Just for Us
by TinyStar
Summary: [Complete] Sometimes what we see and what we get are two entirely different things. Yet in the end, whether by chance or fate, we find that place where we belong, a place that is just for us.
1. A Snowy Place

**Just for Us**

**Spoilers**: _none_

**Disclaimer**: _ER is not mine, though really I wish it was. Anyone feeling generous enough to buy off the creators for me? ;) _

**Authors Note**_: Originally this was just a scene long, but I've decided to add to it – good idea or not, I don't know! One thing I will say is please don't be put off by the first chapter. There are quite a few twists in this tale._

~*~

Chapter 1 ~ A Snowy Place

It's raining outside. Cold hard rain, the sort that seems to burn like tiny scorching pin pricks on my hands and face. The sort that hits with such velocity it should leave behind a bruise or two, but yet it never does. It's gentle, yet so powerful it leaves me breathless. 

He's kissing me again.

I kneel down, place my head as close as I can to his. There's only grass to be held. Grass and cold earth to brush my fingertips. Six feet, an eternity. I search the thunder for his heartbeat, but I know there's none. I listen, ear to the ground, for a whisper, but hear only the wind.

He's not there but I feel him. Like always.

His name is set in stone. That same name I've seen time after time in my head, written time after time in my diary, felt time after time leave my lips. The granite is polished, gold lettering shimmers, scintillating like dying embers in a fire lit to warm the winters night. Beside them he smiles, a wooden posed grin, and for a time I hear him laugh, then chuckle.

He tells me to get up, and I remember his voice.

"Don't cry for me, Abby. I never want to make you cry."

Those brown eyes, brightened by pain and wet from unshed tears. His body weak, but his grip so strong, so tight as he held my hand and our fingers entwined. I willed him to hold on, to fight, not to leave. 

If I could I would have given him some of my life, just so as he could stay longer. Maybe that's why I squeezed his hand so tightly, that last hope, the final wish that he would survive.

I lean down to kiss his picture and then I shine it quickly with my sleeve. 

The first flakes of snow are starting to fall. Cold as the stone. My coat embraces me, though not warmly and I feel the breeze, like his hands, pushing back stray wisps of hair, gently behind each ear.

There's a silence, just as the ones we often shared. A time when words cannot suffice because feelings explain everything. He's there. He's always there. For the first time since he left I know I'm not alone.

"Goodbye, Carter."

I turn to walk away, unsure steps, tossing my scarf over my shoulder. I hear my words, shrill whistles in the night until lost in a haze of dancing snowflakes and I glance back in hope that he may be standing behind me.

"Sweet dreams."

I whisper, though there's no-one there to hear me. Nothing but an openness dotted with small upright stones. The ground is white, it's heaven on Earth. I wish I could show it to him, but then I know he's probably already seen it.

And as I walk away, I'll miss him more each passing day. Until I find that space in time and hold his hand again in mine.

Later on I'll cry, but for now I'll think he's painted this scene just for me.

Just for us.


	2. Where I find Myself

**Authors Notes**: _I'm not sure whether or not this will work, because originally I decided this was to be a standalone. This next little bit twists my original idea and takes it off in a completely different direction, which is why I'm a bit wary about posting it. So please let me know what you think._

_Thank you to all those who reviewed: Becky, Christi, Katie, Brookestar, me, Kitty and Nikki. It's so great to know that people actually read what I write, and even better when I get to read such nice reviews. Thank you :)_

~*~

Chapter 2 ~ Where I find Myself

It's nightfall.

It's night and it's cold and it's hard and I'm crying for him. The wind rattles the windows, resonates through my body. I'm alone. Exposed.

Sheets twist themselves around me, damp with sweat. I can't breathe. Cardiac tamponade, but blankets instead of blood, and not only my heart, my whole body. I'm confused, disorientated. My eyes are sticky from sleep, hair tousled and matted from unconscious wriggling. 

Everything is black. Bleak black. 

Sobs cause my chest to convulse. I can't control them. Wave, after wave of pent up emotion escaping in angry tears until I realise that I am screaming, not shouting. But I can't stop. I don't want to stop. So I wait and I listen for a few seconds, though it seems like an eternity.  My throat burns with a fiery urgency, as I succumb to reality. 

I've had that dream again.  That ever-frightening dream, and now awake and bathed in the cold midnight air I breathe hoarsely, deeply. It's calmer now. There's just a silence. Like the ones we used to share. 

My throat aches, my voice is but a painful whisper. A reminder, it forces me to swallow and I shiver, unsure of what to do, what to think. It was only a dream, but while there it felt like reality. Now I'm still alone, but left wallowing in it's icy aftertaste. I've got to deal with it, forget about it, put it behind me and move on. I've got to be strong to survive. 

I don't know if I can do this. I'm tired, so exhausted I feel weak. I want to sleep, I need to sleep, but all I see when I close my eyes is his grave, and I feel loneliness like a shroud hang loosely around my shoulders.

I wish it would all just go away.

~*~

I position my face carefully – strategically – one might say, over the rim of the cup so that it is gently warmed by the rising steam. Caffeine, a good friend at a late hour. I've wrapped the blanket snugly around me so that only my hands and face remain uncovered. My bed is neglected in favour of the couch. I stare at the television because I'm facing it. It's switched off.

I dare to begin my analysis. Cautious, but determined all the while. I need to know where this image comes from, why it comes. I don't understand it and what I don't understand I fear. Perhaps I'll delve deeper. God knows I'm good with the relevant terminology. I've seen how shrinks work, been watching them all my life – with scepticism.

Somewhere inside I'm a passionate person. I've Maggie's genes, maybe some of her creativity has rubbed off on me. 

I've hated people before. 

I've hated them with a passion. 

Maybe hate is too strong a word. But why say dislike when such a word exists?

I've loathed them, their actions and what they stand for. People whose very presence is caustic -  poison ivy to my skin, an unrelenting tangle of irritants. Those with whom I noticeably cringe from the screeching of clenched teeth as I drown, washed into submission by the fast flowing torrents of false smiles we exchange. 

Richard.

Even now I still roll the 'r' with violent ferocity, building up momentum slowly until the time comes when I can spit his name out with great force. It's no longer punishment for his crimes, merely old habit turned reflex. Or so I let myself believe.

In my mind I've set about trying to think of ways that I could truly hurt him, anything that I could do to make him miserable – actions that I would never carry out, but that while in my thoughts made me feel better. 

What Richard did was betrayal, callous and cold, but much as I wanted to see him suffer, or rather have imagined him suffer, I've never visited his grave. Not once, and certainly not like that.

It should have been him if it should have been anyone at all.

Not Carter.

It's a sin to think such thoughts. I'm a bad person. It's evil to wish such things. Except I didn't wish them. I didn't even realise that it wasn't real, until I woke up. 

I miss him.

I miss him like I miss the childhood I never had. But he's not dead. I just can't call him mine anymore.

~*~

Sunlight prevails in the dead of morning. My coffee cup lies on it's side, tossed carelessly on the floor empty. Beside it the blanket lies in a crumpled heap. I'm at the window, looking out but seeing nothing. I do not notice the children playing in the street below. Their laughter informs me of their existence. It penetrates my thoughts, unfitting background noise.

On the table beside my half-eaten bowl of cereal lies a magazine, thrust open on one tattered dog-eared page.

Dream Interpretation.

The words scream out at me from the page and for a moment I shut my eyes in resistance. I see everything once again, clearly in a hurried flash.

That vast openness. My body is warm from the rays of sunshine, but inside I'm cold with the burning sensation of the white snow. I'm frozen. My cheek are wet as tears flow freely dotting the magazine below as they drip from my face. A graveyard of tears staining commercial glossiness.  

For all it's haziness it feels real. For all it's awfulness it hurts like only the truth can. Except it's a lie. A falsity fabricated by my own subconscious. I need a shower, but I know that no amount of hot water can wash away my disgust. I feel dirty, unclean. I can't concentrate.

It was real, so real, but it's not and I'm torn. Caught somewhere between disbelief and disdain. The sisters voice still rings clear in my head as she explained in gnarly nunnish tones what happens to those girls who think such atrocities.

I'm one of them. And even though years have passed I can still remember the fear I felt as a ten year old, fidgeting with the collar of my old school uniform.

I slam the magazine shut, but paper doesn't make satisfactory noise so I throw it to the ground and kick it as far away as I can. My tears have stopped but they're still there, waiting to catch me off guard again.

I can't decide what makes me feel worse. The fact that I have such thoughts, or the way that I feel when I find myself on my knees before his cold grave – alone and abandoned, though he's really left some other girl behind.

I shake with the emptiness, am nauseated by the sense of loss, the feeling that I can't go on because he's taken me with him. I've run away from things a thousand times before, but walking as I turn my back on him is something I can barely manage. Something I don't want to manage, because I'm closer to him with my head on the grass. Life goes on, but in that moment I want only for it to stop.

I can't explain it. I don't know why.  

I thought I'd grown as a person in the four months since we've gone our separate ways, moved on in leaps I'd never dreamed were possible when I was with him. I'm obviously wrong in that respect, much as I don't want to be. Some people are hard to let go of. He must be one of them. 

I curl myself up into a ball on the floor, reaching for the comfort of the blanket. There's nothing there, nothing left to dissect. All I can do is shut my eyes and bite my lip, rewind and play my feelings again and again on the old, dusty cinema reel and pray.

Pray to God that tonight I'll visit a different place.

And not be left behind.

~*~

**Comments_:_**_ Umm, wanted to say this at the beginning but thought it might spoil things -  I'm not a big fan of the whole 'And then they all woke up and it was only a dream' type of story because I see it as a means of writing something that you don't mean and then taking an easy way out for a happy ending, shirking the consequences of what was written originally in a sense. So I want to say I don't mean to dodge the content of the first chapter I just thought it would be interesting (or different) to go in this direction, and if it turns out bad, well then the first chapters still a standalone :)  _

_Thank you for reading. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. _


	3. Seeing is Believing

**Authors Notes_:_**_ It's late and I can't really think of much to say, so just a big thank you to those whose reviewed – Brookestar, Sloans-interrogator and Brandon Collins. Your comments were as always very, very appreciated :)_

_Brandon, thank you for your honesty. I'm sorry you find the story disappointing, I've re-written parts of the last chapter, so maybe it will be a bit clearer now, and that twist was only the beginning. It happened for a reason I can assure you. More twists to come :)_

_And so onto the third part: _

~*~

Chapter 3 ~ Seeing is Believing

John Carter sits alone, his isolated form casting cold shadows on the ground in the ambulance bay. A white coat flaps loosely in the wind as his eyes search the contours of his hands. One sleeve, rolled up reveals a piece of cotton wool, dirty and blood-stained in the crook of his elbow.

He looks tired. 

Tired, dejected, lost – all the dismal adjectives that spring to mind.

His eyes are rimmed with dark circles that only countless sleepless nights could have painted, feet planted firmly on the ground – he's too weary to draw them up on the bench beside him. He has the look of someone who needs to talk.

But not to me.

"C'mon, it'll be fun!"

I spin around at the sound of Susan's voice. Sighing with the knowledge of exactly where she's headed I reply if somewhat reluctantly: 

"Knowing that I'm destined to be a lonely spinster for the rest of my life hardly fits my definition of fun."

Susan rolls her eyes pointedly.

I roll mine back, and for the coup-de-grace I give her one of my most defiant pouts.

Victorious as always – at least when it comes to giving withering looks, but however this is one battle I've lost. I've already yielded to her latest whim. 

Fortune telling. Or what ever it's proper name might be.

"What'll be fun?"

I stiffen as his soft tones reach my ear, and without turning around I know that the bench is now empty and he's somewhere behind my right shoulder. John Carter makes an appearance. But Abigail Lockhart does not sit alone.

I bite my lip, not daring to speak until the awkward silence becomes too overbearing and I blurt out the first thing that comes into my mouth in a desperate bid to extinguish the thoughts in my head.

"Susan has booked us an appointment with a chiropodist."

A loud snort gives a certain sweetness to my previously annoyed tones.

"Umm – and by that she means clairvoyant, Carter!"

Susan looks through me, towards him, a small smile playing on her lips. I feel them exchange glances and laugh forcibly as my cheeks redden. Damn. I knew that wasn't the right word.

I focus on them just long enough to realise that I still have my back turned to him. 

Avoidance at it's most obvious. 

I don't want to face him, to look into those mesmerizing brown eyes. Even the fact that he's standing so close to me that I can almost hear him breathe is enough to make those tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention...

 I swallow to break my train of thought. 

We haven't talked. Not in months. At first it was a relief. I'd nothing to say to him, well nothing good anyway, and I didn't want to hear what he had to say – if he had anything to say. Now, it just seems so juvenile, so stupid. How can years of friendship just dwindle away to nothing? 

Stupid question.

It's happened to me before, but I'd swore I'd never let it happen with him, we had too much to lose. We were close, so close that there was almost an instinctive connection between us. I'd open my mouth to call him, but before the words would have left my mouth he'd be there two arms holding me close, pressing my head against his chest. We had that kind of relationship. I was swept off my feet, like something out of a fairytale. And yes, he was my Prince Charming, silly as that might sound. 

For a time at least, nothing else appeared to matter as much because he was always there for me, a quiet rescuer, chivalrous with a devilish sense of humour. 

It's funny how things work out.

Stranger still I'd made up my mind to break the ice a while back. I'd already misplaced him, but I didn't want to lose him entirely. That was before. Now, I'm not quite so confident. Somehow I don't think the line 'I dreamt I was visiting your grave last night' would make a good conversation starter and I know I won't be able to look him in the eye without telling him the truth.

Catch-22 situation. Thank you, Joseph Heller.

~*~

The room is small and stuffy. A long purple sari hangs, it's thick silken material occluding the window, blocking the path of the sunlight. The walls are veiled in thick, woollen tapestries of crimson, azure and orange, illuminated by the light of dozens of candles poking out from every nook and cranny, each crevasse where wall meets cloth. 

A pair of cats eyes stare out glassy and bright from the darkened corner where she sits eyes closed in anticipation, her tail, sleek and black waving eerily, claws drawn, pointed and at the ready. The floor is bare stone and in my anxious state it's coldness seems to seep through the rubber soles of my shoes to strike cold upon my heel. I twitch nervously in the seat, waiting.

Scarlet talons appear clutching the door jam authoritatively. I sit up as she glides into the room, her foreboding presence easily commanding attention. She's younger than I expected, around my own age, but her features are remarkably chiselled, exotic but yet ordinary. She's striking. Her skin is a honeyed mix of olive and brown, and her hair, black as midnight falls around her face in easy curls from beneath a bright red scarf.

I open my mouth to speak, but she looks directly at me. Her icy green eyes catch mine and I close my mouth, momentarily subdued.

She grabs my hand and looks into it. Hard. Then she leans back and closes her eyes, gently running her fingers along the creases on my palm.

"You're upset, ill at ease, afraid."

I nod, but her eyes are still closed. She's silent, too lost in her thoughts to notice or even care.

She clears her throat.

"Wow.."

"What's wrong?"

"You have an interesting love line... complicated, secretive. Times of great happiness followed by overwhelming hurt and loss...."

She opens her eyes and gazes at me. Instinctively I look away, but with her free hand she gently lifts my face, forcing me to look her squarely in the eye.

"You care a lot about those around you, dear. Don't ever stop, but don't put your life on hold either. This – she points to a wrinkle – is your life, see how it branches as you make decisions and then change your mind to suit others?"

She raises her eyebrows, as if waiting for a reaction, but I've none to give. She rubs my palm again as though stalling before her next sentence.

"Someone close to you is ill. Someone who you have not spoken to in a while, but who deep down you value, though you may not always admit it."

Her voice fades away until it is a whisper.

"Someone close to you is preparing to leave this life behind."

Silence. Our eyes meet. Deadlock.

A rush of blood to the head, fast, furious, almost deafening. My knuckles whiten as I consciously feel my grip tighten, and that desperate feeling, that sickening gut wrenching feeling of someone who has just had a barium meal sets in. My stomach sinks in its heaviness, dragging my blood towards my feet and my neck, yielding under the pressure place my head firmly in my hands.

"Are you okay?" She asks the question casually, as I stagger to my feet, my aim to run before I start to cry, to make a dignified exit while I can.

"Sure."

But I'm not.

I've it all figured out now. Everything, every last detail has suddenly slotted neatly into place, but the final picture is far from what I wanted it to be. Far from what I even imagined it could be. And I hate it.

Hate. That word again. But this time I mean it. With each and every fibre of my body.

So I run until I'm outside.

There's no-where else to go so I collapse against the wall and hold my breath so that I won't cry.

It's no use. My resolve is weak. The tears come slowly at first, then fast, furious and hot. They bring no relief, just convulsion after convulsion as I struggle for control. I curl my legs up and cry into my knees, one hand gripping a tuft of grass for comfort – there's not enough to lie down on.

I should have known. I should have seen it coming. He's looked tired for weeks, run down, unwell. The signs were there. If I had looked for them.

His brother had leukaemia too.

Bobby. 

He doesn't speak about him a lot, but when he does it's always in hushed tones, as though with each word he re-lives a memory, with each breath he's picturing an adventure they had together. His eyes water, and he always smiles this funny little smile, a smile of fondness, the sort of smile that appears when someone wants so badly to cry, but the tears won't come.

It's at those times, when I see him so vulnerable, raw, that I just want to throw my arms around him and hold him tightly, while we both cry. 

He should have told me. You can't hold something this big inside. Why would he keep news as horrible as this from me?

Sure, we haven't talked, but surely he should have said something. I've been a part of his life for so long now. Maybe he wanted to protect me. Or even worse, maybe we're so far apart now that he didn't even think to tell me.

I should have asked him about that bandage. That dirty grubby piece of cotton wool. I should have pulled him aside and asked him what had happened. A blood test isn't only a blood test. There's the waiting around, the agony of not knowing and hoping...

Dammit Carter.

You should have told me.

I rip up the tuft of grass, roots and all.

Does he just think that we can carry on as normal, until one day when he won't be at work and I'll find out what's wrong by word of mouth? How could he care so little? I mightn't be the pie to his coffee anymore, but it doesn't mean I've no feelings for him whatsoever. It doesn't mean my heart won't drop, that I won't cry when I find out. It doesn't mean that I won't be there for him when he needs me.

I guess what hurts most of all is that he's willing to go without a goodbye. I wonder if he would have told me in time or would he just have waited until whatever flicker of life he has left is snuffed out and he's gone, leaving my words unspoken.

Maybe he has nothing to say to me.

Maybe I haven't really that much to say to him.

But sometimes we don't have to say anything.

Catching his eye, losing ourselves in a stolen gaze. It was always then that I realised the depth of our relationship, how much he meant to me. I don't think I could live with myself if he leaves without a final glance. I need to know we're okay. 

~*~

I'm running again, but this time I know where I'm going. There's an urgency in my steps. My face is red, my eyes are puffy and swollen, but I don't care. How I look is a trivial matter compared to how I feel.

I've left Susan behind, staring after me, confused. I didn't have time explain. She wouldn't have understood anyway. Maybe she would have laughed, or applauded me for finally working up the courage to call around to talk to Carter.

It's not courage.

It's fear, anger, pain all mixed up in a mash of conflicting emotions. It's something real, something I'm not entirely familiar with, but whatever it is, it's leading me to his door. 

I stumble blindly, but I'm headed in the right direction - when the head fails the heart takes over. Nothing makes sense, but yet it does, it's crystal clear to me – for the first time in months I know where I stand.

I know where I stand.

Must be why I'm running.

~*~

**Comments_:_**_ I stole some lines from 'The Letter' and 'Lockdown and Carby in general. I don't own them, but I had fun using them :) _

_Thank you for reading, and please leave a review to let me know what you think._


	4. Truth and Clarity

**Authors Note**: _Thank you so much to my two reviewers – Brookestar and Mana. You guys are the best :)_

~*~

Chapter 4 ~ Truth and Clarity

A cold eerie blackness surrounds me, though I feel my body lit up by hazy hues of parallel light as I run through the streets. The alleys are deserted – there's no-one about except for odd pieces of litter carelessly weaving their way through the cracks in the pavement. At a corner a solitary beggar lies sleeping off the effects of his afternoon binge, his stink fills my nostrils, quickening my pace and pushing me onwards. 

My chest burns with each breath and the salt of dried tears stains my cheeks, but the pain is ignored. I'm on automatic. The moonlight quells all desire to think – there is no time to think, only to concentrate on moving my arms and legs, motions that bring me closer to him, closer to the answers that I'm already sure I know.

My fingers close around the wrought iron gates of the Carter mansion. Arrival brings with it notions of clarity and I realise that I have no way of entering except by alerting the butler. I don't want anyone to know of my presence. I want to talk to him and him alone, to ask the awkward questions, not be their target.

Maybe I haven't planned this well, but before he always seemed to revel in my spontaneity. Now, well, I can't decide whether to turn around or climb over the gates on wings of temporary insanity. 

It's true.

I haven't thought this out at all. I don't know what to say to him, where to even begin. And that's assuming he'll even listen to me, to anything I can come up with. I can't even figure out why I care so much, why I'm running back to him, why I'm standing squeezing the bars of the gates, hoping that they'll open and allow me in. I'll probably scare him away, but at the moment I'm scaring myself even more. What I feel is so powerful, as though I'd take the leukaemia and fight it for him, or at least help him, protect him.

It's not natural. Well not for me. It's out of character. It violates every single rule I've ever made to prevent myself from being hurt. But I don't care. It's at the back of my mind that this won't end well, but given the choice I'd be here, any time. 

So here I am, Carter. Where are you?

"Abby?"

A voice. 

His voice. He sounds confused, surprised even. But I know better. He's behind me. Just like old times, always a few steps ahead of me. I wanted him to come. He came, whether by chance, or some strange twist of fate he's here. Perfect timing, which is by all accounts, unusual for us. I pull my face outwards, praying that the two iron bars it was wedged between have left no imprint.

"Are you okay?"

He speaks the words with the tenderness of old, his face crumpled with evident concern. He moves closer to me – but not close enough, and then it hits me. I've been crying. I'm suddenly as aware of my puffy, swollen eyes as he is.

God, he must think me a right fool, showing up at his door in this state.

"Aren't you going to tell me what's happened?"

And that was all it took. Suddenly I find myself lashing out at him, taking all the hurt I feel, the anger, all those feelings I've pushed aside because I don't want to deal with them, taking them and using them to give strength to my voice, my intent, as I scream back at him. I lose control. I become some sort of human Pandora's box, once the shouting starts I can't stop. Once I tell him what I feel I don't stop. Not until all the cards are on the table. Not until I've heard the truth.

"No, Carter why don't you tell me what's happened? Or rather why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"Huh?"

"Don't play the innocent with me, because I know. I know Carter. Why can't you just be honest with me. Just this once, or it is too much to ask?"

"Abby, I honestly haven't a clue" – 

He puts a hand out and touches my shoulder, gently but my senses are so heightened that the force almost knocks me over. I push him to the side. Don't touch me Carter. He still has this look on his face. This clueless, I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about look. Maybe he can't believe I've got him sussed. It looks as though I'm just going to have to spell it out for him, show him letter by letter that his secret is exposed. And much as I don't want to hurt him any more than this is hurting me, I'm so worked up that I can't help myself, and before I've time to ponder the words have left my lips.

"I know you have leukaemia."

Silence.

So it's true then. I stiffen. Up until that moment I'd hoped, I'd prayed that maybe I'd let my imagination run away with me. That this was all some great misunderstanding. But it's not. It's a living nightmare, and I'm part of it. I turn away, I can't look into his eyes and see the desperation there.

"What are you talking about? I don't have leukaemia."

He doesn't? I spin back around. I can always tell if he's lying. His whole face, his entire expression gives him away. His lips move ever so slightly, and he shifts his gaze towards me. 

He's telling the truth.

Suddenly I feel stupid, I'm kicking myself mentally. How could I have let myself get so carried away? I feel myself deflate like a burst balloon, as an innate desire to run takes over. He moves closer to me until we are a foot apart. Too close Carter. 

"I'm sorry."

I push past him and run, but I don't go anywhere. His hand grips my arm and he pulls me back towards him. I'd forgotten how strong his arms were. Once we stand face to face he doesn't let go. His fingers remain tightly closed around my wrist. For the second time that day I try to look away, but his response is the same as hers – with his free hand he lifts up my chin until our eyes meet.

"Don't run away from me again." He speaks softly, then continues with more determination in his voice. "I think you owe me an explanation for this."

Perhaps I do. Perhaps I should tell him exactly where I got this crazy idea from, but I don't know how. It will just come out in some sort of garbled mess and I'll use all the wrong words, say the wrong things and make him hate me even more. Maybe, but his grip on my wrist tells me it's Carter, tells me I'm not going anywhere until I've said what I'm thinking, and then I realise that I'd better find a way to tell him, to say my piece and stop taking the easy route of running away.

So I open up. I tell him about the clairvoyant, and her frightening predictions. He laughs. I pout. I had expected him to take me a little more seriously than that, but maybe he's changed, so I hide my disappointment. But of course, being Carter he notices and his face immediately clouds over with concern.

"I thought that you didn't believe in any of that stuff."

So did I. I suppose I should be more honest with him. If I'm honest to myself I'm not sure I want to hide anymore. It's too hard. I bite my lip, and he leans his head to one side, anticipating my next sentence.

"I had evidence, Carter."

"Evidence?" He chuckles. I give him a look and that shuts him up quickly.

"You'd been tired, run down for a while. I noticed it, but didn't say anything to you. I guess I really didn't think anything of it until today, and then that bandage. I just assumed you'd had a blood test and put two and two together..."

I look down, acutely aware of how ridiculous I sound.

"... and got four hundred and fifty-eight million." He finishes my sentence, and deliberately lowers his face down to my level.

"You're right. I have been tired, but then I've been covering for Chen, and clearing up a backlog of charts so really I've been run off my feet. And as for the bandage.." - he looks at his arm as he speaks - "I'm O negative. You know that as well as I do! They needed blood, I obliged. Simple as that!"

I laugh. Awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," I repeat. I'm so confused, emotionally drained. I want to cry. I need to cry but I just don't have the energy. "Guess, I jumped to conclusions and didn't think. I was angry with you, for not telling me, even though now I see there really was nothing to tell." I shrug and wrinkle my chin. "I don't know..."

I look at him, trying to hold back the hot tears that sting my eyes. 

"Come on," he says simply, linking his arm in mine. "I'll walk you home."

Thank you Carter. Thank you for caring, thank you for not questioning, thank you for your soft touch, reassuring. I was wrong about you. I screamed at you, I said so many hurtful things, yet here you are walking me to my door, linking my arm, supporting me. 

We walk the streets in silence, hiding from each other in the dark corners, but yet fully aware of each others presence, connected by tightly woven elbows. His coat billows out behind him in the wind, brushing my leg every now and then. I welcome the contact gladly.

As we turn to cross the road his hand slips out from mine and then I feel his fingers brush the sensitive skin below my ribcage. His arm has found a place around my waist, the place I had forgotten existed. He sighs as my hand reassumes it's position around his. We don't speak, just mind read. We don't walk, just float. And for a while there's only the two of us and a faintly lit street.

I could learn to live here.

The illusion is shattered by the harsh light of my apartment block. Paradise is lost, or put on hold for a time. I put the key in the lock and turn it, opening the door. I want to invite him in, but I know he won't accept. There's been enough drama already for one night. He turns to leave, but then seems to reconsider, pausing for a few seconds.

"Abby..... if I was sick, even ..... even if I waited until the 24th hour I would have told you. I would never keep something like that from you. Never. You mean too much to me."

"Carter – "

Something overflows inside of me, some burgeoning sense of respect, of love for this man. There's nothing else he could have said that would have made me feel any better than I feel now. There was heart in those lines, soul. I didn't think I could ever mean as much to him as he means to me. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. We both stand transfixed, savouring the moment as we hold each others gaze.

The phone in my apartment starts to ring, but neither of us move to answer it. We're mesmerized. Speechless. Nothing can interrupt this. I thought I'd lost my best friend, I got used to not talking to him, but now we've made amends, built bridges I can't imagine how I survived those months without him. I wipe away those stray tears that slowly trickle down my cheeks. I can't believe I'm crying. Maybe it's relief – for a while it was as though we stood teetering on the edge of some giant abyss, but now we've  taken a step back just in time to stop ourselves from falling in. 

We're okay.

_..... This is a message for Ms. Abigail Lockhart. Dr. Myers from Minnesota speaking, Ms Lockhart, your mother Margaret Wyczenski passed away this morning. I'd appreciate it if you could call......_

The answering machine records the call, loud and clear as we listen. Moments pass like hours as the news sinks in with the coldness of a thousand sharpened icicles. I'm numb, cold, shocked. My mouth opens, eyes widen. Without warning he catches me as I hit the floor with undeniable velocity. I crumple. I tear. I bruise. I cry.

He holds me, but even he can't make this go away.

~*~

**Comments_:_**_ Thank you for reading, please review. I live for constructive criticism and all comments are appreciated._


	5. Goodnight, Goodbye

**Author's Note**_: Thank you once again to my reviewers – Brookestar, Emely and Maven and also to Melly for her great enthusiasm :) You are all brilliant, and I appreciate the encouragement._

_And if you have 'Say Goodnight, not Goodbye' by Beth Nielson Chapman listen to it while reading. Onto the second last chapter:_

~*~

Chapter 5 ~ Goodnight, Goodbye

What did you think when you looked at me for the first time?

Did you smile a soft, secretive smile as you kissed my eyelashes or held my hands to count ten tiny fingers, each with a perfectly formed fingernail? 

Or did you cry and wonder how things were going to be, what the future would hold for you and me, what I would do, become, as you gently tickled my feet and blew raspberries on my stomach?

I wonder, if I saw you and loved you instantly when I opened my eyes for the first time. I wonder if I knew instinctively who you were and how important you would be to me, if at that moment an unbreakable bond was formed between us, a connection to hold us together through life and now, beyond it. 

I couldn't see then what I know now, that time could change us so. You always were different to other mothers, but I didn't hate you for it. Those crazy times when we'd stay up all night and you took us camping in the living room, or the rainy winter time when you let us colour in and draw on our bedroom walls - you always seemed to know what would be fun to do. You fed my imagination, helped me learn how to cope. You made me who I am, made me ready to face the world.

You could be so irrational, so unpredictable. I often saw the curtains in the houses across the street moving as others looked out at us and our world of absolute chaos. They saw only  the tornados, our most violent of moments, never the gentle flapping of butterfly's wings as you helped me take my first steps or taught me my first word, nor the endless silence that followed after you took your last breath. 

I remember how, when Dad left, you went outside to the middle of our front garden and sat in the rain for hours. It was bleak, and so bitterly cold. You wore that thin cotton jumper with the purple patches at the elbows and the water soaked through it in minutes. Stubborn as always you stayed out there because you didn't want us to see you cry, but we saw. We could count your tears and separate them from each drop of rain on your face. We knew how he broke your heart. We knew how much you blamed yourself for his leaving, but he left us on his own. We've always realised that it wasn't your fault, that you couldn't help it. He was weak, he gave up on us. You were strong to survive this long.

I never hugged you enough, I never told you how much I love you. There were times when I wished you were normal, that I could bring friends home without being afraid of what I'd find. I hope you knew that I never meant those things I said, although I've never apologised for them. I want to say I'm sorry, if you're listening.  Don't laugh - or rather laugh, because I hope you're happy now, you deserve to be. I hope it's as beautiful up there as I imagine it to be, flowers and rainbows, golden sunshine, no tears, except for those of joy. I hope you aren't hurting anymore. Dance while the wind ruffles your hair. You always called me your angel. Now can I call you mine?

Do you remember how I wanted that dress for my prom? The red one with the low neckline, that fitted my waist perfectly? I remember falling in love with it as we passed it in shop, and then hiding my disappointment when I saw the price tag. I really thought you didn't notice my face as we walked away, but you did. You  were always aware of how I felt, what I thought, even though I mightn't ever have given you credit for it. I never told you how many compliments I received on my dress that night. I never told you how grateful I was for the time that you spent sewing and stitching before it. You never let on what you were doing until I saw an even prettier version of that dress hanging in my wardrobe. It's still there, Maggie. I'll never throw it out. It's fabric still holds the scent of that night, it's stitches are memories of you. I put it on this morning and ran my fingers over your embroidery. I closed my eyes and saw the look on your face as I walked down the stairs to leave.

I felt beautiful then for the first time in my life, and it was down to you.  I never thanked you for that.

I didn't think it would be so hard to say goodbye, to let go. The mass is packed with people, most of whom I don't know. I should have known life would go on in Minnesota without me. I never meant to leave you so far behind, for us to grow so far apart. The church is nice, though I'm not sure if you'd approve of the flowers – they've mixed red and pink roses, and I know how much you disliked those colours together. I didn't arrive in time to replace them.

I want to stand up and tell them all about you, but nothing I can say will ever do justice to who you were. I can't make them understand how wonderful I thought you were despite everything. I remember you with a smile on your face, and when I see you happy somehow the good outshines the bad. Maybe it's denial of the past. But I think it's that I miss you more than I'll ever admit. There's a silence in my heart today. It's beats as always, surviving though a part of it will from now on be missing. It's the part I gave to you that time when I first caught your eye.  

The church is cold and bare. The front row was reserved for family. I sit there alone. I don't know where Eric is, but I wish he was here. I wish anyone was here. The empty space beside me leaves no prospect of a hug, a reassuring hand on my shoulder or a smile to say I'll be okay. The wooden bench is as hard and numbing as that day we stood arguing in the rain. I'm looking at my hands, twisting my fingers around and around, trying to think of everything but I only think of you. My lips are bruised from repeating your name to myself, my throat sore from stifling sobs.

They say nice things about you, read poems, tells stories. They laugh, though like me they're crying inside. It's a feeble attempt to disguise the reality. They talk, they smile as tributes flow – things that you used to do, but now you're gone, only a shell remains. Somehow I'm there only in body. In spirit I'm lost in memories, immersed in things I should have done but I never did, things I should have said to you, told you. Perhaps I should have made an effort to visit more often, phone more often. Now I can only watch as you reach journey's end. I left you behind in Minnesota, you've left me behind in life.

I saw you last night, held your hand, talked to you. You lay there quietly, your cool hand slowly draining the heat from mine. Your skin still had the softness I remember from long ago, your perfume hadn't changed. This is what remains, all that you've left behind. Someone had dressed you in the suit you bought for my wedding to Richard, and in the gloaming I took a comb from my bag and carefully brushed the stray strands of hair away from your face and stroked your cheek. You looked so peaceful, as you slept, innocent, childlike, except your breath didn't warm my face as I kissed you one last time.

The world revolved but we stood still as I whispered in your ear all those things I wanted to tell you and tucked you in between the sheets gently. I watched over you by candlelight as you did me, all those years ago. 

Later on when the house was quiet I laid my head next to yours, and dreamed you were still here, telling me fairytales as my eyes shut in sleep.

They lift you up now and you sail high upon their shoulders, brown amid a sea of black. I walk behind, trying to keep my head up as others keep their distance from me. We plod slowly down the aisle as those in the seats bless themselves at your passing. The sun shines outside, but somehow I think I'd feel better if it rained. At least then my tears would be hidden – Eric isn't here to see through me.

What was the last thing you saw? Did you look out the window to see the same moon and stars that smiled at you when your life began? Maybe the clouds were grey or perhaps it was a clear night, clear enough for you to see a shooting star. As you sat in your chair by the window did you see your life flash before your eyes? Did you think of all you have accomplished during your time here? You sat there for hours, looking, watching the world go by your window, with the blanket pulled over your feet to keep out the cold, rocking back and forth, lulling yourself into an eternal rest. Maybe the wind whistled a haunting lullaby as you shut your eyes one final time, maybe the tune of a nightingale hung soft in the breeze as wearily you breathed your last.

You have a smile on your face, contented now, you've left your troubles behind. And as the angels took your hands and led you softly through those gleaming gates your blanket fell to the floor and snow covered the ground outside, white and perfect, as another star twinkled brightly in the night sky. You'd gone on to a better place.  

Maggie – as they lower you into the ground I hope you feel no pain. Don't be afraid of the dark, because I've been told it leads to a brighter place. You can wait for me there, if you wish, because I'll run to you once I arrive. 

Goodbye Mom.

Sleep tight.

I'll keep you in my dreams tonight, and always.

~*~

The house lies empty, so quiet and still that I can hear her voice as she gently sings me to sleep. Her shoes lie abandoned by the door, her slippers are warming my feet. I sit in her rocking chair by the window looking out. It's a beautiful night, silent, serene. It must have been peaceful and calm as she slipped away.  I've pulled back the curtain so I can gaze out undisturbed.

Soft footsteps scuffle behind me and I feel a hand gently squeeze my shoulder. He kneels down on the floor beside me and rests an arm across my legs. 

We sit in silence for a few minutes, waiting, watching, holding our breaths. I never expected him to come, but yet as I left the church there he was, dressed in his formal suit, a friendly face. Once again there for me to lean on. I caught his eye and within second he'd left his perch on the wall behind, and was wiping my eyes with a folded, white handkerchief. 

I stand up, and press my nose against the glass. He takes to his feet and stands beside me looking out.

"All those times I told her I hated her, I never told her that deep down I really love her."

"I know."

"Why is it that we always leave it too late? Why can't we just say what we feel instead of waiting until we can't?"

I stop, my fist are clenched, my muscles tightened. I turn to him, expecting an answer. He obliges, awkwardly – 

"I think... I think she knows, Abby."

"I'm not.. I mean I meant – "

He turns to face me and looks directly at me. His eyes are deep, yearning. Our hands graze, and blue sparks light the distance between us.

"You weren't talking about her anymore, were you?" he whispers. His voice is hoarse, as though his throat burns with the rawness of his words.

I shake my head.

He takes my hands in his and I feel his lips brush the tender patch of skin on my forehead. Hold me, Carter. Hold me and don't let go.

One hand rubs the small of my back, with the other he brushes my hair behind my ears. My chin rests on his chest feeling it's soft swell as he breathes rapidly. In. Out. In. Out. He presses me to him, now level with his heart I hear it's soft thumping, gentle but so strong.

I cry softly into his shirt, while he tenderly rocks me back and forth, the touch of his body soothing away the pain of the day. I raise my hand to warm the damp patches my tears leave on the expensive tailored material. He place his hand over mine and our fingers entwine, fitting together like pieces of a jig-saw puzzle.

His embrace remains steadfast until the rhythmic sobbing convulsions have been broken and my breathing has slowed. Then we remain locked together looking out onto the darkened street below. There's an eerie haunting silence, broken only by him hushing my cries. Moonlight floods the room and our shadows are cast long upon the wooden floors.

The two of us. Together. A black and white photograph to keep for all eternity.

We break apart.

"Do you remember Gamma?" I wonder aloud.

He nods. "Always." 

I cast my eyes downwards. "I want to remember her, but I think I'm already starting to forget... sometimes the detail is hazy, my memories aren't clear."

He clears his throat and trails a finger along my cheek, catching a stray tear. "The bad times fade. Maybe they'll disappear completely. The good times you'll keep in your heart. You'll never forget them – they'll stay with you forever."

Some small part of me realises that he's making sense. He bends down toward the floor and picks something up. With his back turned to me he lights a candle and places it, burning, in the window.

"Maybe, if she passes by tonight, she'll see it."

It flickers, the flame dances merrily in the darkness as the wax begins to melt. The three of us stare out over the sleeping city.  And maybe he's right. Maybe she will see it, because wherever I am, there's always a place for her too.

For both of them.

In my heart.

~*~

**Comments**_: Thank you for reading, please leave a review and tell me what you think!_


	6. Falling

**Authors note:** _It's been a long time, and I'm sorry for the delay. I don't know if anyone will still read this, but I'm posting anyway! Thank you so much to all who reviewed the last chapter – Emely, Brookestar, xanaimb, CarbyLuv, nikki, Prevent the Dreams, Allisha and lostinlove. Your reviews were greatly appreciated._

_Also a huge thank you to Brookestar. You gave me that push I needed to continue with the story and get it written. I probably would have given up if it wasn't for you. Thank you for putting me back on track._

~*~

Chapter 6 ~ Falling  
  
_It's cold, too cold for autumn. My sweater clings damply to my skin, melting into a sea of goosebumps that spread up my arms and along my stomach. I curl up into a ball, pulling my knees up until I can rest my head upon them. The coats hanging peacefully overhead brush my shoulders and hair. I pull one closer and drape it over my body.  
  
She screams again. A harsh, spitting sound of rage and my name reverberates around in my eardrums. I can hear her pacing the floorboards, stamping her feet, muttering to herself. If I close my eyes I look directly into hers. Except it's not her. It's some monster, a stranger. Her eyes dance with unspoken wildness, an uncontrollable fire. Unpredictable, a caged animal caught in a world of insanity, she's walking about the house screaming out my name. She wants me, but I daren't go. I can't.  
  
Fear. It's not my mother I'm afraid of. It's this person she becomes, this anti-mother, the person who chases me, whose hand I can almost feel beating my body with the anger she holds inside. She needs me and I hide.  
  
I'm shivering. My teeth rattle together, though I beg them to be quiet. A floorboard across the room creaks, an announcement of her arrival. She's stumbled into the room. I stiffen and stuff the end of the coat into my mouth, desperate. I can't breath. I don't want to breath. My chest aches with the effort, I feel tears edging their way down my face, but I don't dare wipe them away for fear she'll hear.   
  
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, I know I'm on the verge of passing out. Throbbing sensations, like dull pins shoot through my limbs, pinning me to the wall, holding me in one spot. My back is arched in the confined space, my fingers clammy and stuck together.  
  
There's a silence, foreboding and deafening. I'm biting my lip so hard I can taste my salty blood upon my tongue. My hands take up position above my head as the cupboard doors crash open. Daylight spews in to reveal my position, as she menacingly stands overhead, casting her shadow black upon my face.  
  
She lunges. I scream…._  
  
~*~  
  
The room stops spinning and I find myself lying on a cold wooden floor. My hands brush the dusty surface as slowly objects come into focus, and my eyes adjust to the darkness that surrounds me. My head hurts, throbs incessantly – I rub it to find the beginnings of a large lump at my right temple. Without warning the light snaps on, and I hear footsteps again, hurried and light.

  
"Abby!" 

A voice shatters my thoughts and reality slowly seeps into my surroundings.

"Are you okay?"  
  
A concerned voice, somehow out of place here. When the glare of the light fades I find Carter kneeling down beside me, his hand soft upon my forehead, his face clouded with worry. His touch is light, soothing as he brushes my hair behind my ears. What is he doing here? I wonder. Perhaps he's come to rescue me, to take me away. I feel my lips smile at him, dazed, and I thank him profusely with indecipherable mumbling.   
  
"Don't move," he whispers, followed by a reassuring, "It's okay now."   
  
It is then, much to my embarrassment, that I realise I have fallen out of bed. And he's helping me back up. I close my eyes and open them. No. It's no dream. I feel my face start to burn as blood finds it's way to my cheeks. My epiphany has cast extraordinary light on the situation, and my thoughts immadiately turn to the safe option. Denial.  This cannot be happening. I haven't fallen out of bed since I was a child. Why does it have to happen when he's staying in the next room? 

Acceptance kicks in with a horrible, nauseating sensation. I feel awkward, mortified. There was a time when I'd have loved this to happen. I'd have loved having him there to pick me up.. but not now. It's too complicated. Somehow my strengths are becoming my weaknesses. Everything I hide is being exposed, everything I suppress resurfacing. I've dealt with this before. I've locked away those memories, thrown away the key long ago. I'm trying to show him that I can cope on my own, that I don't need him, that I don't need anyone, but I can't. With every move I make I find myself closer to falling than before, with every word I speak to him I find myself closer to breaking down.

I want him to go and leave me alone. 

But I don't. I want him to stay and help me work this out. I want him to put his arms around me and tell that everything will be okay. Yet somehow I can't tell him, and I don't want him to see me helpless and alone. I'm trapped, unsure of how to react. So I push him away.   
  
"I'm fine, Carter," I snap. But even so I still find that I can't lift myself from the floor. I gasp, as a surge of pain stabs at my side, and bite my lip to stop myself from crying. He seems to sense my frustration, and gently steers me back to a lying position, grabbing a pillow from the bed and placing it under my head. 

  
"Where does it hurt?"  
  
"My side and my head," I whimper. As I speak I touch the bump on my head and feel a certain dampness nestling among my hair. I pull my hand away and for the first time I see it. Blood. My blood, tiny red tributaries running down my fingers. I can smell it, taste it in the back of my throat and for a time I stare at it in fascination. Shocked.  
  
I mumble. He pulls my hand away, down to my side and looks me in the eye, not letting go of my hand.  
  
"It's only a cut, Abby. It's not serious. Stay where you are. I'm just going to get a bandage."  
  
He squeezes my hands, and waits for me to give him a feeble nod before disappearing. I shut my eyes and lie back against the softness of the pillow. I want to leave. I want to go, to leave this house in Minnesota and these memories far behind. My throat is tight, I'm suffocating slowly in this confusion. I don't know what to think, to feel. My chin trembles, I'm losing control. My tears escape from behind clenched eyelids, my lips are pursed with the effort of trying not to scream.

  
He returns and I feel his fingers slowly untangling my matted hair. The cloth is damp, the water lukewarm and his touch so welcomed. I turn my head to the side and he instinctively slides his hand under my cheek for support, lowering it onto the pillow. My breathing slows as he gently washes away the dried blood from the edges of the wound moving my hair aside carefully, so as not to leave a trace.  
  
"All finished!" He announces. I can feel him stand back and inspect his work.  
  
His voice softens, and I sense that his smile has vanished. "I just want to check your side – if that's alright?"   
  
He's almost whispering. Finally I open my eyes and nod, too weak to argue with him. My skin crawls as I feel his hands palpate my abdomen first and then move slowly, hesitantly up to my ribs. His fingertips burn through the thin material of my t-shirt. I take the time to look at his face. I follow the rays of light that reflect off it to the wall, where I see him bending over me, taking care of me. He keeps his gaze downwards, concentrating on the patch of my stomach that lies exposed, while I concentrate on him.   
  
I jump as he presses a tender region, and he pulls away apologetically. There's a soft tugging sensation as he carefully lifts up my t-shirt to reveal the wounded area, in it's shiny purple glory. His hands are shaking, but I pretend not to notice. His face is grey, he frowns, but we both know it's just bruised – no fracture. He replaces the navy material and smoothes out the creases that have formed.   
  
Leaning over me, he places one hand on the small of my back, while the other holds my head and neck. I reach out and grab his arm as he pulls me to stand. I feel him sway under my weight, but he doesn't let go. His muscles tense under my fingertips, strong and supple. Our bodies collide as I reach an upright position and my head finds a resting place in the crook of his shoulder. He steadies us both, then cups my cheeks in his hand to get a clearer view of the swelling at the side of my face.  
  
I move away.  
  
"I'm okay now, Carter." I manage to say as I walk backwards towards my bed.  
  
"Are you sure?" He shakes his head to the side, eyes open, still worried and steps towards me. "You don't want me to stay for a while?"  
  
"I'm fine." I mutter defiantly, raising my hand to stop him reaching out to touch me. "Turn the light off on your way out."   
  
Don't go. Please don't go. Don't switch off the light, don't leave me by myself. I'm so tired of trying to be strong, so tired of pretending that everything will turn out fine. My body is so weak it refuses to move, my limbs so heavy they pin me to the bed. The cold gnaws at my feet, even though the duvet. There's no comfort here except you. Don't walk away…  
  
He lifts his head and sighs, tucking in my blankets. "Fine." I think I hear him mutter under his breath. He seems almost hurt, or disappointed. The light switch clicks and darkness floods the room.  
  
I'm alone.  
  
~*~  
  
I see it in the looming in the corner. Wooden and box-like the cupboard stands highlighted by the inky night. It dominates the room, devours everything until all I can see is it and me. Trapped. The doors rattle in the draught, the hinges creak of their own accord. I close my eyes to get some sleep but it penetrates my thoughts with lost and lonely impulses.  
  
My skin is cold and clammy with sweat. It calls me, mocks me from the corner, and in an instant the room is filled with shadowy figures, dancing coldly on the walls and ceiling. Ghostly shapes swim around my head, their eyes white and rolling. They hiss at me, serpentine voices loud against a backdrop of fear. I pull the covers over my head, but to no avail. Light is eliminated, but I sense them, feel them rubbing their numbing hands all over my body. My chest convulses, I feel blood pulsing through my fingers as my heart races clattering between my ribs and lungs leaving me breathless.  
  
I push the covers aside. Ignoring the pain in my head and chest I stagger blindly to the corner and fling the cupboard doors open. The dark figures start to laugh at me as my hands trace the rough wooden edges of the battered doors. Another voice cuts through my mind, screeching as a diamond dragged across a glassy surface. It's her, and she laughs louder than them all. I hear her from all corners of the room, every crack in the wall. Her laughter resonates off the furniture, the vases, the windows, until it drowns out even my ragged breathing.  
  
I pray for her to stop, to go away, but she doesn't listen. My eyes are closed, forced shut. She's whispering, telling me to get into the cupboard. I plead with her, but her mocking tones don't cease. She's surrounding me, pushing me closer and closer towards the black hole in front of me.   
  
"I don't want to," I whisper. I look around but I can't see her.  
  
"Don't make me. Please - " My leg rises, an automatic reflex and I feel the sole of my bare foot brush the dirt and dust as I step into the dark expanse. This isn't real, I tell myself. It isn't.   
  
Then something surges inside of me, some force that I can't explain, but it's powerful, uncontrollable and I slam the cupboard door shut and step back. I'm shaking; my body shivers with effort, with pain. I'm sobbing so hard that I can't catch my breath. My shoulders rise and fall rapidly. Pinpricks of colour flash before my eyes, as blood drains to my feet leaving a hollow numbness. I've nothing left to do, nothing that I can do so I run..  
  
~*~  
  
"Carter - "  
  
He's asleep, sound asleep, cocooned in his quilt. As his name leaves my lips he rolls over, to look at me, squinting. His hair is tousled and he's not fully awake. He rubs his eyes, and clears his throat before looking at me expectantly.  
  
"I – um, I – I - "   
  
I don't know what to say. My mouth opens and closes, fish-like, but nothing leaves except incoherent muttering. I lean against the doorjamb, suddenly tired. I feel my head fall towards the ground, and I start to turn around. It seems that in my panic I've left all sense, all reason behind and now that they've finally caught up with me I realise how immeasurably stupid I must appear to him. I'm in too deep, I've gone too far. My face flushes on cue. I turn to leave, slowly, because somewhere inside I know I'm desperately hoping that'll he say something, give me a reason to stay and talk.   
  
"Can't sleep?" His voice fills my ears as he finishes what I had started to say.  
  
Relief floods my ailing limbs and I nod, biting my lip as my eyes flood with tears. He catches my gaze, though blurry, and sighs softly to himself. I stand, unable to talk though I want to, unsure of what to do. I wait for him to make the next move, and as predicted he sits up. I look away, acutely ashamed and wish that I was back in my room, buried under layers of sheets, not so open, not so exposed. However I'm fully aware that this is impossible – with Carter there is no such thing as emotional retraction. At least not where I'm concerned.  
  
He peels back the covers of his bed, and motions me to come towards him. I oblige.  
  
"You can sleep here tonight. – If you want," he adds hastily.  
  
I climb in beside him and he places the blanket over me, then leans over to tuck it in. He settles himself back down and I notice that his arm is draped casually over my shoulders. I turn to find myself completely in his embrace, my head pressed against the wall of chest.

Safe now. Secure away from all that haunt me. Maybe one day I'll have the opportunity to tell him how I'm at home in his presence. I often wonder if there's something deeper at work, something that means that whenever my world crumbles he'll be there. From the moment he walked into my life that's how it has been and I don't want it to be any different. I don't expect him to care, but yet he does. I've given him no reason to stay, but he has. He has and I've never told him what it means to me.

The stars wink at me from a frozen sky, the moon glitters with a dusky silver. Recently I've wanted to be someone else, I've wanted another life, another happier existence. Yet in all my thinking and hoping there's one thing I've overlooked. Him. And I realise how lucky I am that out of all the people in the world he has chosen to care about, he has chosen me.   

His scent fills my nostrils, his legs entangle with mine and I sigh contentedly, my cold skin warmed by his body heat, as his breathing gently rocks me to sleep.  
  
~*~  
  
Morning arrives with a slow and peace calm, as the sun rises over the evergreen trees in the back yard to creep into our room and set it ablaze. Though awake I am reluctant to move, reluctant to leave him. He snores to himself, his hand tenderly rubbing the small of my back in his sleep, oblivious to the beautiful rays of light that frame his face. I watch him, as he swallows and shifts position.  
  
For some reason it feels right, lying here, waking up with him beside me. I realised it the first time I awoke to feel his hand in mine and I realise it now. I don't want to leave, because I'm so afraid that we'll part and I'll never feel like this again. I've found something so good, so right. I only need to see him and my heart beats faster.  
  
I realise it now. I realise just how much I threw away when I said goodbye to him. If I'm honest I think I knew all along, I just couldn't admit it. I couldn't bear to feel as I felt the moment those words left my lips and I knew we were breaking up. He was everything to me then, and he still is. And even if we can't be together, maybe we can be friends. I can pretend to go on, living in his presence, being cut by his smiles. 

  
I turn and get out of bed. He's still asleep. I find his dressing gown over the chair and put it on for warmth as I decide to go and make breakfast. I pull my hair into a messy ponytail and tuck the stray bits behind my ears. Then I stand beside him and kneel down. I run my fingers along the side of his face. 

If only you knew how I feel, Carter. If only I could find the words to tell you. When I look at you I see a reflection of you and me, and when I see me without you I see a void, an unimaginable emptyness.    
  
"I miss you, you know," I whisper softly.   
  
I freeze as his eyes flutter open. He breathes hoarsely.   
  
"I miss you too…"

~*~

**Comments:** _Thank you for reading. Please review, I do love to hear what you think and your comment do mean a lot. Just to explain the part in italics at the beginning is a nightmare about an event that occurred in Abby's childhood._


	7. In Memoriam

**Author's note:** _Thank you once again to everyone who reviewed – mandi, Tracey, CarbyLuv, Mana7, Taz Maniac, Brookestar and Helen w. You guys are great, and I love reading your feedback. It helps a lot :)_

_I've said it before, I know, but this time I mean it! This is the second last chapter. It was supposed to be the last and I was actually in the middle of writing the last chapter when I got this idea, so the last chapter remains half written and umm this is posted instead._

_Starbuckmeggie – thank you so much for your words of encouragement, and for the unexpected shout-out. You are a fantastic writer, it was truly an honour._

_Happy Halloween everyone!_

~*~

Chapter 7 ~ In Memoriam

"I'm sorry."

He sits up suddenly, casting his gaze downwards.

"I shouldn't have said that."

I freeze momentarily. I thought we were finally understanding each other. For a split second I thought maybe we hadn't lost everything, that perhaps he still felt something other than pity for me. I recoil instantaneously, my feet drag themselves backwards, away from him, away from the room.

"You must be hungry.  I'll boil the kettle," I find myself gushing, before I stumble blindly out of the room, so close to tears that I dare not even breathe. This is one time where I cannot cry. I pray that he won't follow, but I know he will, and sure enough though deafened by the blood pounding around in my head my ears soon hear the blankets sweeping back and his soft footsteps.

"Abby, I didn't mean – "

"Tea or coffee?" I cut him off, and purse my lips to look at him defiantly, but deliberately avoid his eyes. I've nothing more to say to him, nothing more to hear from him. Dammit Maggie, where do you keep the coffee? I slam the cupboard door. He reaches in to take my arm, but I shake him off and bend down to a lower press. My hands shake as I find two cups and though battling to control myself I cannot help but bang them down on the counter with unforeseen force. My skin is numb, and knowing that he is still in the room is so unbearable I can hardly bring myself to turn back around to face him.

"You're right," I tell him. "I'm better left alone."

His face becomes panicked "I didn't mean it like that. Just let me explain - "

"You don't have to invent some fancy excuse, Carter," I snap. "I've been making wrong decisions for as long as I can care to remember. Why should you be any different?"

This is too close, my words are too true. He can't even imagine how harsh they sound to me. It's one thing to think them, but another to say them aloud, and an entirely different thing to say them aloud in front of him. My head is spinning. I'm teetering precariously on the verge of losing whatever sanity I have left in the midst of this unstoppable mess of emotion. I push by him, but he doesn't pull me back, instead he follows, the tips of his toes nipping the backs of my heels. Finally he grabs my shoulder and swings me around to him.

I take his hand and throw it back against his body. I make to gaze up at him abhorrently, but in his eyes I see something which I have never seen before. It frightens me. They contain a passion, a fire. They shine but with anger, with unspeakable tension. And his voice. The words fall from his lips with serpentine quality, hisses calm but sinister from between clenched teeth, causing my body to seize as they hang, a shroud in the air.

"Don't you dare try and guilt-trip me." He steps back. "You can't beat yourself up about the past forever."

"And what would you know about it?"

"If this is about your mother, about the psych hold, get over it. You were right, okay. I think you made the right decision and I've told you as much."

"Yea, well Luka didn't think so."

As expected he stiffens visibly at the mention of Luka's name.

"Why do you always –" he begins, before thinking better of it. "You made a decision that was right for you and Maggie. You couldn't hope to look after her. And she wouldn't leave Minnesota anyway."   

He stops, then shakes his head. "And there you go again. Playing the self–pity card."

"Excuse me?" 

"It's what you do isn't it? Scream and shout, then bring it all back around to you, and how awful your life is, so that you're never the one in wrong."

"You haven't a clue," I spit back at him. "You don't know me at all."

"I think I do. You know what? Yeah. Maybe you haven't always made the best decisions, but everyone makes a wrong choice at some point. Big deal." 

His voice is raw, but unyielding, as though he's been holding this in a long time, waiting to throw it back at me. "This isn't about your life, your decisions, your past. This is about you and me - "

I block out his words. His voice has reached fever pitch and it tears at my eardrums incessantly. He's inches from my face, shouting, yelling at me and I can't take it. I'm breaking. I'm ripping apart at the seams. My hands cover my ears but still his voice resonates through burning skin and muscle on its path. I beg him to stop. I plead with him to be quiet but his assault continues until finally I snap - 

"I had an abortion," I yell as the chaos dissipates. 

"I had an abortion," I mumble quietly, in the heat of the calm.

A pause. A stunned silence has fallen, and we both hold back, our heavy breaths colliding as we let my words sink in. I shut my eyes. My heart is cold as regret, starting small begins to consume me piece by broken piece. This wasn't meant to be a revelation. Maybe some part of me wanted him to know, but I never pictured telling him like this. Somehow I always thought he'd understand, but now I know I probably won't get the chance to explain.

Then I look at him and I see hurt, I see pain. I see brown eyes that shine so brightly that I am overcome by an urge to kiss the tears away. I lean towards him, but he moves away. He's disgusted. I've disgusted him. He's looking at his hands, twisting his fingers round and round, unsure of where to place them, what to do with them. I wait for him to speak. Say something Carter. Just say what you think of me, how I never fail to disappoint you. His lips are quivering, his face white.

"Was.." His voice trails off into silence. "Was it mine?"

His body sags under the effort of asking, but he looks directly at me. He's tense, knuckles white and I sense his fear, cold and dominating like the beads of sweat that have appeared upon his brow. I close my eyes, horrified that he should even think such a thing.

"No. Oh god Carter, no. It was so long ago. I hadn't even met you."

I know I should continue, tell him more, reassure him but for some reason I stop there. This was my secret, the wrong decision I couldn't tell him, couldn't tell anyone. I thought it would go away. If nobody knew, well then nobody could ever think about it and I would be able to forget. 

If only it were that simple.

Sometimes I wonder if I could have made a good mother. Sometimes it makes me sick to my stomach, guilt grinding slowly away at my insides, but then other times I know that I was in no state to bring up a child. I wanted to tell him. I've wanted to tell him for so long now that it hurts, but I couldn't face disappointing him. I couldn't let him see me for what I am… or what I was. I've changed since then and I thought maybe when he knew me long enough it wouldn't change a thing between us. I guess something like this changes everything. And if I wasn't good enough for him before, I'm certainly a lot less than good enough for him now.

My hands are cold. Blue veins stand erect against impossibly white skin as red and purple blotches begin to appear devouring the previous pallor. As I wait for him to turn and leave I am suddenly aware of the fact that I'm still wearing his dressing gown. Its fabric is warm with the heat of my body, it soothes my skin, but it smells of him, of his good character. My chest tightens with shame and air burns the back of my throat as panic sets in. I reach down, my hands trembling as I try to undo the knot holding it around my waist. I have got to take it off.

I jump as a warm hand is placed on top of mine, and the rasp of my breathing slows, if only for a few seconds. He pulls my fingers away from the knot and forces me to look at him.

"Was it Richards?"

I nod, finally defeated as the tears that have been threatening to fall spill over my eyelashes. I pull my hands to my face. I don't want him to see me cry.

~*~

The kitchen is as it always was, harshly blue with hard white tiles that never could be kept clean. He paces back and forth, while I sit motionless on a chair, my hands gripping the half-filled coffee cup furiously. It's black and strong, just the way he likes it, but then he was the one who made it. We don't talk. I don't know what to say, all my thoughts are marked by his footsteps drumming steadily in the background, each beat heightening my sense of insecurity. 

"Oh why don't you just say it?" I murmur half-heartedly. 

"Say what?" He stops pacing and turns to look at me.

"Whatever it is that you're thinking. You can say what you think of me, because it'll only be a fraction of what I already think of myself." I pause grimly, expecting a reply of some sort, but getting none.

"Or you don't have to say anything," I continue flatly, "You can just leave. Thank you for coming. I appreciated it."  

My voice is bland, dry, all emotion squeezed out of it. My eyes are heavy, puffy and red. I'm so tired I can't concentrate, every bit of feeling seems to be seeping slowly out of me, out through the cracks and pores of my skin. I want so badly to cry, but I've used up all my tears long ago. I wish there was somewhere I could go. Someplace where I could crawl, hide away and not be able to hurt anyone, or disappoint anyone. Especially not him. He deserves better.

"What was it like being married to Richard?" he asks, finally.

"What?" I'm confused.

He blushes. "I just.. I mean I'm sure you had a reason.. You both must have put a lot of thought into doing it."

"Oh." I swirl the coffee around in the cup and bite my lip before correcting him. "Well, actually.." I study my hands carefully. The hot coffee has worked wonders in warming them.

"Yes," he prods gently..

"Richard didn't know about the baby. He still doesn't. It was me. All my doing. All my fault." I falter, my voice is barely a whisper. Hearing my thoughts only increases my self-disgust. 

In a funny way I wonder if he thought that maybe it was Richard's idea. He doesn't respond to my answer, and that's the only reason why that I can think of. I place my mug on the table and stare blankly at my hands again. He's struggling with what to say. I can feel it and it makes me ill at ease – usually he knows exactly the right words.

"I just couldn't have the baby, Carter, I couldn't. I'm not a mother. I was too afraid. We were breaking up and I didn't want to be left alone with a child. And for the first time I thought I'd left Maggie – everything – behind and I couldn't face the possibility of going back to that.. not by myself."

It was the timing. It was everything, but still no matter what excuses I make for myself I still know I'll never feel any better. There's always a hole, a gap where this little person should have fitted in my life, a slot now occupied by a bitterness that cannot be plastered over, a wound that even time cannot heal. 

He pulls a chair close to me and sits down, taking my two hands in his and rubbing smooth circles in them. I catch his eye and he nods.

"I do think of her. All the time… She could have been the one thing that could have made my life worth living, if I'd have kept her."

 I shoot him a wry smile.

 "You know how children have this innate view that their parents are wonderful. Maybe she would have thought that I was someone special, maybe she wouldn't have seen what everyone else could see… that I was crumbling.. Maybe – I pause – maybe she might even have loved me."

My eyes glaze over with tears and he squeezes my hands. 

"Sometimes now I wonder why I did it. It was an awful time for me, but I should have been able to work through it.. if I'd been stronger.. She'd be here.."

He brushes my hair back, away from my bruised forehead. There's a brand of empathy that I associate with that gesture – unexplainable, though powerful. It's as if he's saying, telling me that he understands. And in some way I believe him. That he'll realise that split second feeling of emptiness inside of me when I see a group of children playing on a damp street corner. That he'll know that when I momentarily shut my eyes I see her jump rope, smiling and laughing along with the rest of them.

"It's okay," he stutters "It was a mistake, a difficult decision. You felt you had no other option."

"It was a life, Carter," I remind him.

"It was," he admits "But don't stop living yours because of it. It's okay to think of her, imagine her, but don't put your life on hold. Not because of the disease, not because of this."

His words break easy upon my ears, his sincerity quietens me and not for the first time I wish I had have told him sooner. There is something calming, soothing in knowing that he understands, and an even better feeling in seeing him offer me some support by listening. We both lean in and our foreheads touch gently. He resumes his grip on my hands and I inhale sharply.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He smiles and leans back before letting go of my hands and standing up.

"Just for the record – I'm not another wrong decision. I just thought you might need some space, you know what with being here, and Maggie.." 

He shrugs. I grab his hand and pull him back down to a sitting position, chuckling silently at his chivalry. Our eyes collide, a set of stormy pools breaking waves on long anticipated shoreline as the haunting rays of light bounce patterns off hair and skin. Desire holds us captive once more and this time we allow it to take hold. Our lips brush, slow at first gently as a butterfly touching down on a flower until urgency takes over and the kiss deepens to tornado ferocity. 

In one swift movement he has me on my feet so that he can wrap his arm around my body and I can run my fingers through his silky hair. I'm on tiptoe, leaning against him for support, but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact I think he's pulling me closer. I don't want to let go, and when we eventually part it is with heaving chests and tearing eyes, both breathless sucking in the air, ravenously inhaling scent of memories past, but not forgotten.

He still leaves me speechless, begging for more. He still has that look that he once claimed is reserved for me, that tender look of love or compassion, that makes me want to run to him and hug him so tightly that I get pins and needles shooting down my arms. 

And if he wants me, I'm his.

The look in his eyes tells me he's mine.

"Come on," he whispers, his breath tickling my ear, "Let's leave here, and go home."

I nod. He's right. It's time to leave. I've said goodbye. Things will be different when we return to Chicago, but I'm not going to give up on us. Not now. I don't know if I'll ever be back to set foot in this house again, yet for the first time I'm not worried or nostalgic. It's empty now, a shell of a house where I spent my childhood. These walls hold many memories, dreams and nightmares. It's time to lay them to rest, to leave them behind. I can never forget this place. It'll be forever engrained in my memory along with the tears and laughter that were my life here. But I'm moving on. What doesn't break us makes us stronger. And I am stronger for knowing this house and the people that lived here – my family. They made me who I am, and now I'm ready to start over.

A new life, a new beginning. I'm not scared of what's gone before. It's time to face the past and learn from it.

I take his hands and smile. "Give me an hour. There's just somewhere I have to visit."

"No problem," he winks, gazing round the room. "I'll do a spot of clearing up."

His hand squeezes my shoulder as I set off down the road.  

~*~

**Comments:**_ Thank you for reading, please leave a review to tell me what you think – good bad or indifferent._

_Just to mention – I decided to give the baby a gender, hence the whole 'she' business. I just thought that if Abby were to think of the baby a lot she may have imagined it as a person… I don't know, but that's the reason behind it anyway :) _

_And finally – I don't know how Carter likes his coffee so I invented it, but if anyone does know I'll always edit! _


	8. Conscious Dreams

**Authors note:** _Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter – ER FANatic, Tracey, mandi, Lizzi1, Taz Maniac, Brookestar, kla and starbuckmeggie._

_Well I can't believe I've actually finished this, but here it is, the last chapter. Hopefully it doesn't fall too flat – I hate writing endings, though I suppose this can be seen as more of a beginning than an ending._

_I just want to mention two people: starbuckmeggie – thank you for all your support and brookestar, who has reviewed every chapter so far, – thank you for sticking with me._

~*~

Chapter 8 – Conscious Dreams

There is something magical about the rain - something infinitely beautiful, yet indescribably powerful. A force bold and overbearing that can beat weakened bodies to the ground, but yet so calm and gentle that it can trace the most intricate of patterns on a windowpane. It causes me to breathe in deeply and for a moment I stand breathless, body aching, among eternal rows of carved stone, feeling the finality intrinsic to each one in the stinging droplets that caress my cheeks time after time.

This feeling is unlike any I've ever experienced. That I should give myself so freely, expecting nothing in return, but yet receive what I've so deeply wanted truly leaves me breathless, speechless, knowing that finally I cannot ask for more. There from the moment those words left his lips this feeling, this sense of wonder, has not been lost. I feel it pulsating around in my veins, until it reaches my heart causing it to skip a beat, making me smile. It's new, unforeseen but yet so comfortable and familiar I can no longer imagine feeling any other way. I don't want to feel any other way.

I bite my lip and kneel down. Instinctively my hand reaches out to feel the cool stone; my fingers begin their gentle tracing of her name. Gold letters carefully carved, beautiful gold letters like the glimmer of warmth I saw in her eyes once upon a time. Are you there, Mom?

Loss, to me, has never been like this. I don't know what to say, because you won't answer. There's so much I need to tell you, so much I have left unsaid, words I should have spoken such a long time ago. Before this, loss has never been so final. There was always a chance that the person could return to me, a sense of uncertainty that exploded into shards of hope. Death extinguishes all of that hope. I won't see you again – at least not in this lifetime. It's up to me to talk to you and though I'm as close as I can be I'm afraid that I'll fail again. My breaths are shallow and rapid, my throat as dry as my chapped lips. I'm not one for communication. Sporadic outbursts of pent up emotion are more my style, though lately I can see I've become more open, more honest with how I'm feeling.

I shiver slightly as the wind brushes delicate fingers though my hair, tickling the back of my neck. I inhale sharply, realising that now I feel your presence, your hands rubbing my cheeks, as though you're standing right next to me. It's calmer now. I'm calmer now. An eerie silence fills my ears, not unlike the silence in the room where you once slept. A peaceful silence, one that tenderly drains away fear and inhibitions, one that brings comfort and warmth beyond compare despite its bitter coolness.

We've always let things go. We've let them run, watched them as slowly they fade into the distance, small figures on a red horizon. My Dad, Richard - things we allowed fade away, and perhaps rightly so. But this time it was different, there was something inside, something that never let me stop thinking about him, something that lead me back to him. It's foundations lie in that numbness, that emptiness I feel when we are apart. That's why I didn't run. I couldn't. I thought that if I shut him out, he'd leave and I'd continue existing, if that were possible. But he never gave up on me. He stayed.

I've spent my life looking for something right, trying to scavenge whatever happiness I could from a chain of ruined relationships. I blamed it on you, on everything but myself - my childhood, my emotional scarring, all good reasons, yet when it comes down to it I see how easily I give up, afraid to face the future or allow myself to become too involved. The regret I feel now that I've left it too late to tell you what you mean to me deepens my numbness. Some part of me hopes that maybe you already knew, the same part that realises I've still got the chance to tell him how I feel – if I'm brave enough.

I've come to trust him as I trusted you. During your good times I told you my secrets. During your bad times you never gave them away. You knew me, sometimes even better then I knew myself and although I'll get used to your absence, I'll still miss you more than you can imagine, more than I'll let myself feel.

You smile out at me now, just as you'll smile at the earth around when I'm gone. The picture is of you, but it isn't you. Dull enamel fails to show your life, your vibrant personality, as it fails to show the darkness of those times that slowly fade from my memory. Kneeling down I place a kiss on the stone, cold as your cheek that last night. I shine away the droplets left by my breath. You smile still, out at a world that no longer holds great significance to you.

~*~  
  


Soft footsteps rumble, and hearing a sharp, unexpected noise, I turn to find Carter stealing slowly up behind me.

"I thought I might find you here," he whispers, his voice tender, as compassionate fingers reach up to trail along my cheek. I nod and bite my lip, unable to stop the tears from falling. This time I don't turn away from him. He bends down to me, his face creased with worry, clouded with concern. He places his hands firmly on my shoulders.

"Don't cry, Abby." His voice rings with gentle notes of sadness. His brown eyes shine with pain - my pain - and for a moment I feel him wonder if he should have stayed away and given me more time alone. I put my hands on top of his and our fingers entwine immediately. His grip is strong, comforting and I will him to stay with me, to hold me tightly, not to leave. He understands and embraces me warmly. I press my lips against his ear.

"Do you remember when you told me how the bad times fade? That all you remember are the good times?"

"I remember," he counters, sweetly rubbing the small of my back.

"Well you were right," I swallow, "Not just about her. But about us."

He smiles a sweet knowing smile and scoops me into his arms. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, but in his eyes dance a mischievous grin. He spins me around, before placing me back on the ground.

I shut my eyes momentarily, to feel the soft flakes of snow as they brush my cheeks, and in that instant a vague sense of familiarity fills me. The ground is white. It's heaven on earth. I've visited this place before, felt this loss.

Only this time I'm not alone. I feel his arm tighten around my waist.

We turn to walk away, slowly, knowing that with each step I'm leaving a part of my life further behind. She'll never know how often I swore I hated her, just as she'll never know that now all that remains is love - the love between a mother and child, that which will some day guide me back to this spot, back to her. I gaze around one more time, then meet his eyes as he steals a soft kiss from my lips.

There's a calm to be felt in shutting the gate, and I turn back before finally letting go. Tucked in safely by the surrounding trees, she sleeps under a snowy blanket. In its sadness this place is truly beautiful. I shut my eyes because I can still remember her, hear her laughter. Carter's hand is warm in mine. We both stand motionless, gazing at the land, thinking, wondering where we will go from here. We don't speak, for fear of breaking the moment. There's nobody about, just him and I, sharing a memory that no one else can see. As the world wanders it is precious to think we are alone, two people realising that this space in time is ours - a picture to be held in thoughts for years to come, a scene to be painted only in dreams.

Completion. This is where it all begins.

In a moment when nothing seems to matter anymore, except that he's here with me and I with him. Together.

Silence casts soft shadows, and the breeze whispers warmly.

This moment, I realise, is just for us.

~*~

**The End**

~*~

**Comments: **_Well there you have it. Thank you very much for reading through this story. I hope the ending wasn't too disappointing. Anyway I'd be very grateful if you'd leave a review and let me know what you think.. even if it's just one word!_


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